Snapshots and Scrapbooks
by Youkomon
Summary: Snippets from the lives of the monkey team, their friends, their rivals and the people they save. Drabble collection, will be updated whenever I see fit.
1. Page One

Drabbles, drabbles, drabbles galore! Ha ha! Yeah, seriously, drabbles are good for the soul…some are directly influenced by episodes, others are not and none of them are arranged in any particular order! Go figure…

Oh, there will be more...so this 'fic' will be in a chaptered format. All my old ones available on the forum will be present as well as some new ones said forum members will have never viewed before. Stay tuned...

* * *

Sometime in season 3...after Savage Lands…

A rattling gasp. Paintballs of blood. And the stench of metallic pain.

A cough.

"Hang on Chiro."

The calm steady voice of Antauri, breaking on the edges of his words. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly around the teenager's, minus three digits on his right one. The grey fingers were scattered over the battlefield, their metal gleam lost under the haze of mud.

"Where are you Gibson? Gibson! Chiro needs you!"

But Gibson did not reply. Otto was flitting between him and Sprx, the red monkey's head lying solemnly on the lap of Nova who was crying her heart out. Her pained eyes leaked tears in a rusty storm as she stared at his blank face. His body was lying 20 yards away in a mangled heap beyond repair. Gibson didn't move. Not once.

Otto was shouting something but Antauri wasn't listening. He craned Chiro's neck upwards, mindful of the possible damage the boy had sustained.

"I'm right here Chiro."

Another cough. Antauri's heart bled.

"I'm scared Antauri…"

A pale hand flopped as life slipped away. And then the world stopped.

Post Chiro's Girl

When I was younger I went to school, lived in an ordinary house and thought the moon was made out of cheese. I squished play dough between my chubby hands and loved the way it became ensnared under my fingernails. I made Mother's Day cards out of red paper and glue, carefully sticking sequins down onto the surface, pressing down so hard that the card nearly tore. I had a princess tiara in my dressing up box and I wanted a pony when I was older. In my dreams there was only ever sugar.

I was addicted to my imagery glucose.

Nobody ever told me I was special. I was just a girl. An ordinary little girl. Someone with a home and family and a lot of love. Someone who hung around with gaggles of giggling girls.

Except that never really happened. They were just dreams, things implanted inside me by someone evil, bitter, twisted and cruel.

I've never been to school. I've never touched a jar of play dough. There are no cards proudly displaced on the fireplace. There is not even a house for the fireplace to exist in. Nor was there anyone to put the cards up on display in the first place. No trace of a loving mother anywhere.

I never played princesses and I never invited Matilda round for tea. There never was a pony and there never will be. And now I hate sugar.

I don't have a home. I don't have a family. But I am special.

I just wish I wasn't.

Post A Man Named Knickle

It was stupid. Stupid and distracting.

Antauri fidgeted as he heard another rustle of paper meeting hand. The sound of a soft sigh blew into his ear as he determinedly tried to mediate.

Honestly, why couldn't Chiro do that somewhere else?

His eyes opened in surprise a moment later as part of a former page whizzed past his ear in the form of a crumpled up projectile.

"Chiro! Why are you ripping up a perfectly good book?"

Chiro pouted at him.

"Actually that was part of Gibson's equation sheet that he threw away yesterday."

Antauri stared at him before his eyes travelled down to the book resting in the boy's lap.

"Is that-"

"Yes."

Antauri looked at him evenly.

"Why are you reading it here?"

Chiro grinned.

"I was trying to get your attention. I want you to come down to the museum with me. They're got this new exhibition in of a real zombie claw!"

Antauri floated over to him and opened the door, wishing he had bought a smaller book of Philosophy for Chiro's birthday. Really there were too many pages for him to effectively block out that large a rustle.

Chiro grinned as he followed Antauri out of the room.

"Works every time…"

Post Sun Riders

She had spent her whole life being told that she was beautiful. Oh how nice her eyes were, what flawless skin she had and oh, that hair! It was smooth, soft, just the right texture for petting on a Sunday afternoon and it framed her face in a manner that most girls spend hours trying to achieve.

But then she saw the disgust in his face and that broken, betrayed look in his eyes as she turned on him with genuine conviction in her voice. She saw the hate and confusion in front of her, mirroring the way she had felt her whole life. She felt ugly.

And Aurora Six was glad.

Post Whenever

Yellow. It always catches his eye.

Yellow. The colour of a grandmother's curtains. The itch of sand slithering between your toes. The clash of a leaf caught between the hues of red and orange. That's the part of the colour that annoys him.

But there's another side to yellow as well. There's the yellow of sunshine that gives life and takes it away in the baking heat. There's the vibrant scent in the twitch of a daffodil's petals, peaceful and tangy at the same instance of time. There's even a burnt yellow in a dead wheat stalk.

So whichever way you look at it, yellow's a pretty eye-catching colour. He can feel the tingle it brings whenever it enters his vision and he's forced to turn his head.

'look over here.'

Only the yellow voice has yet to say those words. But when she does, he's betting that their first kiss will be golden.

Post Whenever

_Peck._ Fatso._ Peck._ Nerd.

Okay so he's not that fat and he likes to stick his A Grade cards up on the fridge. He super glued the magnets onto their slender backs of whipped white and teeth-worn corners…but that was only because he needs something to state as his own.

People are cruel and they hurt. Don't they know it.

Chiro was always a cuckoo though. A little brown, muddied around the edges but shining with a greed that laps up the attention of a clawing public who need to have something to believe in and hope for, something that stands on this same rock and pewter as them all. God is too far away to be worshipped.

And him? A mere starling who got pushed out of the nest from birth. And yet still he imagines pecking and gnawing for the bacon rinds Chiro throws off with his public smile and the confident image slashing off rounds of bread and butter that all the girls lap up. And he ashamed to be drawn into the same folly as everyone else.

He wonders what sort of bird Jinmay would make.

So yes, he might well get a diploma of natural history and maybe even biology one day, merging in with the blackbirds in their whickering capes and fancy graduation caps…he's always wanted to play with the tassels. But it's still not enough to get off this rock.

Don't let the candy pink of the shops and walls fool you. Every city has it's interior. And this centre is a bitter one with its millions of BTs and Glennys urging their way through blistered crowds that smack into revels of adoration. They need a hero.

He needs a hero. He wonders if his mum will ever look at those flimsy grade cards whittled down to a core of grey that regardless, still stubbornly resounds against the fridge door. She still hasn't moved from the sofa since yesterday. And her skin is cold.

Ice cube eyes of cotton blue. He wonders what else he hasn't inherited from her.

Does Chiro ever think of his parents? Who had black hair and white shins?

He clutches his last reminder of personality left. Soft, downy smoothness that rubs against his fingers and gets inside his nails. He loves it so…the scent of the penguin doll still blurred but clears as a memory of fairgrounds and a stiff-necked father who laughs, laughs…grows quiet and paddles away from his life.

Where do the ripples go? He catches them in his hands.

Post 'Belly Of The Beast'

Otto likes potatoes. I was always more of a tutti-fruit girl myself.

But then I've always had odd tastes compared to the others. Antauri has a weakness for mint chocolates while Gibson hides a stack of candy bars in his lab. And Sprx…well, he varies. One minute he's running around, screeching his lungs out with a sugar cane stuck in his mouth, the next he'll be chewing thoughtfully on an apple core, not realising that there's hardly anything left. I've never been able to figure that boy out.

Maybe it's because I'm a girl. I like it hot, spicy, with just a dash of sugar. Chiro-sweet sugar.

That's just the reason I don't count him. He's still a kid…and a nice, sweet, geeky one at that with a head that his shoulders can barely support. But he's still…mine.

They're all mine. Mine to love, cherish, protect, the whole mushy deal, yadda yadda. It's like a badly drawn anime I suppose. Except I've got the style to pull it off. _Except_ I almost failed one time.

Heh. At least Antauri chose to die. I wanted to live, greedily snatching up that lifeline of hope Sprx stretched out to me. Would I have done the same as him? Undoubtly. But still…I wonder…

They wanted me back. I still can't get other how good that felt. Still does. To feel wanted, needed, loved by the people you call family. A family thrown together by forces beyond our understanding but that's only made us stronger. Made me stronger.

I'll shoulder the world for them…I've seen things they will never see and I know, better than Antauri does, that's there's worse out there. I know what's coming. But I won't spoil their dreams yet.

Fate's a real pickle isn't it? Sometimes I think they forget I'm a girl. I'm strong and reliable but sometimes…they just lump me as one of them. The guys. And they really shouldn't. For we can never truly connect on that level.

Except Sprx. That guy's got a flippin' girl radar built into his hormones. And I've seen that look in his eyes…that look that claims that I'm his girl. After what's just happened, I feel we've become closer. Yet what I've just experienced…may have driven us further apart that he even realises. Forgive me Sprx. I'm not sure if we'll ever make a connection…we can strike up a spark but it might just be all we can ignite. A single spark.

Urgh. **Someone's** bad habit of punning is beginning to rub off on me.

But don't count me out yet. Anyone tries to hurt my team…they'll pay the price. I'm not that same little yellow monkey who shivers at the sight of a snowflake anymore. I've outgrown the others more than they can ever guess. But they're still mine you see.

They're my boys. They're _all_ my boys.

. 


	2. Page Two

Oh My...I forgot about this little project of mine... 

Post Ape New world

"Gibson.."

The blue monkey sighed heavily, setting down the papers he was currently slaving over and observed Otto with a pair of watchful, if slightly annoyed, eyes.

"What is Otto? Can't you see I'm busy!"

Otto ignored the reproachful tone occupying the voice and shuffled his feet against the floor in an unsure manner.

"Er…I kinda knocked my arm on that control panel and I can't twist it back in by myself…"

Gibson sighed as he started work on Otto's crooked arm.

"What else did you break this time?"

"Well…I scratched off the paint a bit but I think it's still in one piece…"

"Actually Otto, I meant _**you**_."

"…oh…nah, just the arm…"

Post Snowbound

She wakes. It is cold.

On the wall she can make out the finely tuned edges of silvery letters, pointed with a frosty wisp. They are cold. They are cruel. They cut right through her and steal her warmth.

She stares. It is still cold.

The words glare back and she can see the orange smirk of his face dripping onto her memory like melting ice. That traitor's leer mingles with his handiwork.

_**Are you feeling cold tonight Nova?**_

And suddenly she is hot.

...Still Post Snowbound 

He is humming a tune or at least a few warm snippets of one, as he rushes round the kitchen in a breeze. He adds a sprinkle of salt, a few vegetables perhaps and watches contently as a tongue of flames tortures the base of a saucepan.

"What are you doing?"

He grins.

"Making soup."

"It isn't gonna poison me is it?"

He stares at her in surprise.

"You actually want to drink my soup? As in soup that I made?"

"I'm cold Sprx", she states bluntly.

"Ah…"

And so they sit. They slurp. They share the silence brewing between them.

And all in a vain attempt to chase off the unknown feelings circulating inside them.

Post I, Chiro

People cry when they're upset. Sometimes they cry when they're happy. Then there's the sort of crying that lets stress break out in rolling waves. But there's also the type of tears that gush out in the form of anguished soul-wrenching grief.

She'd seen it all before. She'd seen the wailing little girls with their grazed knees. She'd seen the water rushing down the pale face of a boy who'd lost his parents to a fire. She'd heard the lonely sobbing of a grandmother who nobody cared to visit any more. She'd seen crying way too many times.

Except she hadn't.

Because there he was, cradling Antauri's helmet with that primitive snarl on his face, all his emotions washed away by something she didn't understand, couldn't even begin to contemplate. It wasn't him.

So she looked at him and he looked back, glaring, snarling, and for a moment she imagined she saw some water glistering in the corner of his savage blue eyes.

They were supposed to be _**white as well**_.

And so for the few seconds that he glared at her she wished he would cry so that she would know that there was something still there, still inside. Still human.

But he's not.

And she futilely wishes that he would cry.

Still Post I, Chiro 

He stared at the rumble around him, body weight supported by part of someone's crushed car. Everywhere…they had touched everywhere…He shuddered. He felt violated. This was their home, their paradise. Why couldn't evil let them be? 

He was selfish. Weak. Stupid. Pathetic. And all he could do was struggle to keep himself heaving and wrenching at the mangled sight of what was his former house.

"Hey!"

He turned his head listlessly to watch his friend scurry over to him in a timid manner.

"It is over?"

He shrugged at the hushed question.

"I dunno. Hope so."

The sound of a jet pack filled their ears and he felt something wet plonk onto his neck and roll down his skin in an agonised manner. His eyes followed the yellow monkey as she streaked back to the Super Robot, crashing through the air with indefinite skill.

"At least the monkeys are back! Guess we're gonna be alright…"

BT glanced at Glenny as he spoke and wondered if his friend knew that monkeys could cry. Probably not.

"I think we won!"

BT turned his head away to avoid the dawning hope on Glenny's face.

"Yeah…"

But for some reason he didn't feel like celebrating.

Post…whenever the heck you want…

These precious things. Let them rain. Let them rain.

She stands there, defying nature and defining innocent steadfastness. Her eyes are blank though the green glint hints of a strong desire to rip down the sneering faces of the clergymen who turn away her impurity from their church doors. A child of the metal, she hates herself and lives for others.

And that same metal grip, a grip she despised, tingeing of the remnant of material love.

These precious things. Let them rain. Let them rain.

And the heartburn drums inside it, almost breaking the clockwork inside her. Her loyalty is unturning and a jagged crack tears it's way through the pink.

These precious things. Let them break me. Let them break him.

It has been an age since she wore it last…the heart that was fixed into her chest from another time, another place. Even without a head on her shoulders, she heard it jangle on a chain, rounded out into a locket by a pair of careful hands.

But he threw it away. And now the contours of that same heart will tear through blemished flesh until nought but the machinery of bone is uncovered. Then they will be the same, his skeleton will dance with her inhuman body, unblemished by the moonlight. That is where they belong.

These precious things. Let them wash away. Let them wash away.

The locket slips, rains through her fingers. It is over. The betrayal will end in revenge.

Let it rain.

Er...3rd Season-ionish

Later they will say I hesitated. They might even claim that I hated him, was wishing for his demise, that I stood there and laughed until his life ran dry. I will meet their ugly looks for I know she will get me through it. They were not there. They could not make the decision I made. 

They never let her die before.

This time…this time I held her hand. And I would not let go.

I miss you. But I took her hand and ran, even if it means Antauri isn't speaking to me anymore and the video games console is collecting dust.

You were designed to save the Universe, I know. I'm watching everything crash down around me now. Watching it all burn away like there's no tomorrow. And taking all the curses they throw at me because it was me, my failing, that caused the world to end not yours. Not like it might have been.

Would you have been able to put up with the scorn? No, I think only I could have handled it after years of practise with Gibson.

Otto build a nice gravestone for you yesterday. I wonder if there's enough time left to put it up.

I never thought that it would be my fault. It could have been yours.

Sorry kid. I had to choose.

And I chose her.


End file.
